by Bill Tiepelman
Teatime Tides
The Steepening There was a mermaid in Margot’s teacup. Now, you may think that’s the kind of sentence best reserved for children’s books or individuals who lick glue recreationally, but Margot had, in fact, just brewed a rather ordinary chamomile. And she was quite certain the tea did not include mythical beings on the ingredient list—unless Whole Foods had finally cracked and gone full goblin-core. The mermaid, for her part, looked mildly irritated but otherwise fabulous. She had a tail like sequin-infused sapphire syrup, hair that swirled like coffee cream in slow motion, and an attitude that read “Instagram influencer who’s too good for your land-based nonsense.” Perched beside her was a smug little seahorse, bobbing with the lazy swish of her fishtail like he was waiting to be knighted. “Ahem,” Margot said, peering into the cup. “Why are you in my tea?” “Why aren’t you?” the mermaid replied, stretching languidly in the lemon-honey swirl. Her voice had that bubbly champagne pop to it—too sparkly to be mad at, but fizzy enough to stir unease. Margot blinked. She was dressed in three-day-old yoga pants, had half a Pop-Tart in her hair, and was aggressively not caffeinated. Either this was a nervous breakdown or the world had decided to finally acknowledge her main character energy. “This isn’t a metaphor, is it? You’re not here to teach me self-love through marine metaphysics?” she asked, tapping the rim of the cup. The teacup responded with a dignified ping, like a crystal goblet being slightly insulted. “Oh please,” scoffed the mermaid. “Do I look like a self-help allegory? I’m on a lunch break. This is my spa cup. You’re the one who summoned me by pouring the water clockwise over that expired loose-leaf blend. Honestly, who still uses loose-leaf without a strainer? It’s chaos in here.” Margot leaned closer. “So you’re like… a unionized teacup mermaid? You have breaks?” “We all have breaks,” the mermaid said primly, adjusting her sea-shell bikini top like it had a grudge. “You think the tide takes itself out? You people are so self-absorbed.” The seahorse burped. Margot could’ve sworn it sounded like, “Amen.” At that moment, a butterfly flitted past and landed delicately on the cup’s rim, blinking its wings as if it, too, was trying to process the situation. “Okay,” Margot said finally, sitting down at her cluttered table. “Talk to me. Are there rules? Do I owe you rent? Am I secretly a siren queen or is this just the chamomile kicking in?” The mermaid’s smile curled like a tidepool secret. “Oh honey. This is only the steeping stage. Things get truly weird after the second sip.” Margot stared at the cup. The tea shimmered. The seahorse winked. Against all better judgment—and with a flair only chaos could summon—Margot took another sip. And the room, quite politely, wobbled sideways. Deep Brew Margot was falling, but not in the dramatic, flailing-into-a-void kind of way. No, this was more like being slowly poured into a velvet-glazed dream funnel lined with glitter and scented vaguely of sea salt and bergamot. One second, she was upright in her very real kitchen. The next? She was shoulder-deep in something warm and viscous and vaguely peach-colored, like time had decided to host a bubble bath. “Ope—watch the cascade, you’re creasing the ambiance,” said the mermaid, who was now full-sized and reclining like a smug goddess on a floating slice of citrus the size of a life raft. Margot flailed until she was upright and sputtering. “Am I IN the tea?” “Technically, yes. But spiritually? You’re in the interdimensional spa realm of Steepacia. Welcome. We host Wednesdays.” The space around her was absurd in a way only dreams or luxury catalogs dared to be. Opalescent tea leaves floated lazily like jellyfish through the golden infusion. Delicate teaspoons flitted like hummingbirds, and somewhere in the distance, a harp made entirely of kelp played something that sounded suspiciously like Enya trying jazz. “I knew it,” Margot muttered, eyeing her floating reflection. “I wore my regret pants today. Of course I end up in an existential tea dimension wearing regret pants.” The mermaid let out a melodic giggle and tossed her damp hair like she was auditioning for a shampoo ad in Atlantis. “Relax, landling. This place responds to your emotional temperature. Here—have a mental mimosa.” With a delicate flick of her tail, she conjured a sparkling glass that hovered just within reach. Margot took a sip. It tasted like nostalgia, orgasms, and brunch. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she was significantly less anxious. “Okay,” she said, voice calmer but still riding the WTF rollercoaster. “So... is this a one-way trip? Do I need to kiss a kelp wizard to get out, or...” “Gods, no,” said a new voice, sharp and vaguely crustacean. A small crab wearing reading glasses and a necktie clicked into view, holding a clipboard. “She’s a first-brew. Probably temporary. Emotional instability triggered by caffeine deficit. I give her six hours, max.” “Hey,” Margot frowned, “I’ll have you know I’m emotionally stable enough to hold down a job, keep a houseplant alive, and only cry in the car like, once a week.” “Textbook.” The crab sighed and scribbled something. “Please report to the Fennel Sauna for processing.” “Ignore him,” the mermaid whispered. “He’s just bitter because he used to be a dishwasher in the real world and now manages leaf temperature therapy. Anyway, since you’re here, might as well enjoy the amenities.” And that’s how Margot found herself half-submerged in an oolong hot tub beside a unicorn-shaped kettle, being offered cucumber eye patches by a chorus of aquatic mice who hummed barbershop harmonies while exfoliating her aura with matcha seafoam. “I feel like Gwyneth Paltrow’s subconscious,” she murmured, wrapped in a hibiscus robe and watching the mermaid gently braid a rainbow koi into her hair like it was no big deal. “Enjoy it. This place has moods. It picks up on your vibes and… manifests accordingly.” Margot stared across the tea-washed horizon, where clouds shaped like biscotti lazily rumbled past a sun made of glazed lemon. “That sounds like foreshadowing,” she muttered. It was. Because that’s when the seahorse returned—only now it was wearing a tiny pirate hat and riding what appeared to be a jellyfish named Greg. “Emergency in the Rooibos Reefs! The Earl Grey Golem has awakened!” “Oh not again,” groaned the mermaid, who now had a slightly glittery sword tucked behind her ear like a hairpin. Margot raised her hand cautiously. “Quick question. Is this one of those moments where I learn I have hidden powers? Or do I just die creatively and serve as a plot device in someone else’s journey?” “Neither,” the mermaid said, diving gracefully off her citrus raft and summoning a war-squid from thin air. “You’re with me. You’re the emotional ballast.” “The what now?!” But it was too late. She was already astride the seahorse—who smelled faintly of cinnamon gum and teenage rebellion—and flying through the infusional ether like a caffeinated fever dream. Around her, storm clouds of bergamot thundered softly, and beneath them rose the ominous silhouette of the Earl Grey Golem: eight feet of antique porcelain fury, monocle glinting, moustache made of twisted tea leaves. Margot, full of mimosa courage and absolutely none of the necessary life skills, reached into her pocket. Miraculously, she pulled out a tiny teabag. It pulsed with lavender light. “Is that the Sacred Sachet?” the mermaid gasped from her perch on a spiraling honey drizzle vortex. “I dunno,” Margot said, eyes wide. “I think it came from a free sample pack. But it feels... emotionally charged.” “Then throw it. Right at his steeper!” Margot hurled the sachet with the flailing confidence of someone who once got a participation ribbon in elementary school dodgeball. It hit the Golem’s chest with a poof of fragrant steam—and the world paused. The golem blinked, looked down, sniffed, and sighed. A deep, contented sigh. Then he turned into a moderately sized antique teapot and gently plunked into the seafoam. The mermaid stared. The seahorse hiccupped. Greg the jellyfish applauded with one limp tentacle. “What… what just happened?” Margot whispered. “You soothed him. He was overstimulated. Poor guy only wanted a nap and some affirmation,” the mermaid said gently. “You’re very good at this.” “I… am?” “Yes. Emotional ballast. You stabilize the madness. Or at least repackage it in a way the rest of us can process.” Margot blinked, cheeks flushed. “So… like a therapist?” “Or a writer.” That hit a bit too hard. Just then, the sky above them shimmered, and the voice of the crab came booming from nowhere: “Time’s up! She’s beginning to stir in the waking realm.” Margot grabbed the mermaid’s hand instinctively. “Wait—what if I want to stay?” The mermaid smiled, that same sideways, salty grin. “You can’t stay. But you can visit. Anytime you need a break. Just brew clockwise. And never forget to stir with intention.” And with a final warm pulse of honey and lavender, the world turned inside out… The Stirring Margot woke up snort-sneezing on her couch, cheeks squashed against the faux velvet cushion like a crime scene. The tea cup—now completely ordinary, mildly lukewarm, and devoid of any mythical spa creatures—sat smugly on the coffee table, as if it hadn’t just been the portal to an emotionally complex teacup multiverse. She blinked. Sniffed. Peered inside. Nothing. Not a fin. Not a flicker. Not even a suspicious bubble. Just a faint whiff of bergamot and something like glitter trauma. “Okay,” she said to no one, rubbing her temples. “So either I hallucinated a high-budget sea fantasy on a Tuesday, or I just main-charactered my way into another dimension through expired loose-leaf.” She looked around. Her apartment was still her apartment—mildly chaotic, aggressively scented like dry shampoo and panic, and just cozy enough to pass for “intentional.” Her half-eaten Pop-Tart sat on the floor like it, too, had experienced an existential moment. And somewhere in the corner, her cat was making intense eye contact with the radiator, which wasn’t new. Margot leaned over the teacup. “Hey, uh… I don’t know if this is like Beetlejuice rules, but... steepacia, steepacia, steepacia?” Nothing. But the spoon did shimmer slightly. Just once. Almost like a wink. For the rest of the morning, she wandered around in a daze, accidentally brushing her teeth with sunscreen and emailing her boss something that included the phrase “crab-based time therapy.” She couldn’t stop thinking about it. The koi braid. The rogue seahorse. The terrifyingly relatable Golem who just wanted a nap. And most of all… the mermaid. That sassy, sarcastic, glittery-scaled miracle of emotional support and mild snark. The way she smiled like she knew all your secrets and had ranked them from least to most cringey—but in a nice way. Margot sighed, long and dramatic, like she was auditioning for a sad coffee commercial. She didn’t even realize how long she’d been staring out the window until her neighbor Todd waved from across the street. She waved back without looking, accidentally knocking over a jar of expired honey. It oozed onto the counter in a slow, poetic sort of way. Margot stared at it. She was pretty sure it was judging her. Later that evening, she stood in the kitchen holding a new tea blend she’d bought out of pure spite. It had a watercolor label featuring a fox in a bowler hat and promised things like “clarity,” “inner sparkle,” and “tasteful epiphanies.” Margot didn’t trust it. But she brewed it anyway. This time, she poured slowly. Clockwise. Very deliberately. She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. She watched the leaves swirl and settle. The color shifted to a familiar peachy hue. She whispered, “Steepacia?” The water glimmered. Nothing happened for a long moment. Then, just as she leaned back in disappointment, something tiny bobbed to the surface. A seahorse. Wearing sunglasses. It gave her a curt nod, did a dramatic backflip, and vanished again. Margot gasped, almost dropped the cup—and then laughed. A big, ridiculous, snorty laugh that echoed through her apartment and startled the cat into knocking over an entire shelf of scented candles. It felt good. A laugh soaked in bubble bath memories and kelp-harp music. A laugh that said, “Yeah, I’m probably not okay, but who is? At least I’ve got interdimensional sea friends now.” That night, she dreamt of spa mimosas, citrus islands, and mermaid sarcasm so sharp it could slice through imposter syndrome like a butter knife through warm brie. She woke up refreshed in the only way someone can be after confronting their own existential nonsense via magical beverage. From then on, Margot kept a shelf of strange teas—anything with mysterious names or packaging that seemed a little too quirky to be legal. She learned to pour slowly. To stir with care. And every now and then, when she really needed it, the tea would shimmer. Sometimes she’d see the mermaid again—lounging in her cup like royalty with a minor hangover, tossing sass like it was seafoam. They’d chat. Or fight. Or sit in silence, sipping cucumber kelp lattes from mugs made of rainbow clamshells. It didn’t matter. Because what mattered was this: Somewhere between loose-leaf lunacy and self-discovery, Margot had found the weird, magical truth of herself. Emotional ballast. Chaos whisperer. Lady of the Leaves. And she never drank bagged tea again. Take a Little Magic Home with You If “Teatime Tides” made you giggle-snort, crave mermaid mimosas, or consider emotionally bonding with your teacup, you might just need a little piece of this dreamy nonsense in your real life. Bring the charm and sparkle of Margot’s interdimensional adventure into your world with our curated collection of metal prints, acrylic gallery panels, or even a cheeky tote bag to carry your tea and secrets in style. Feeling puzzly? Get hands-on with the full tea-venture in our jigsaw puzzle. Or for the serial sippers and daydream doodlers, grab a sticker and slap some whimsy on your laptop, journal, or next questionable decision. Every item is brewed with care, sass, and just a hint of lavender magic. Because let’s face it—you deserve more sparkle in your tea breaks.
